


White Lies - Imagined extra scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

by aurora_ff



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_ff/pseuds/aurora_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanov (Black Widow) reunites with Clint Barton (Hawkeye) shortly after the events of <i> The Winter Soldier. </i></p><p>Ties into my other "lost scenes" posted in AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Lies - Imagined extra scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Contains _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ spoilers  
> Some Adult Language  
> Some Sexual References

Clint met up with Natasha at Prague’s National Museum. She sat down next to him on the bench, ignoring him like she may any other stranger, and went through her purse. To any passer-by, Clint looked to be gazing at his cell-phone, but he was actually watching to see if anyone was on her heels or surveying them. 

Natasha pulled out a compact mirror and a tube of lipstick, applying it with practiced ease. She then took out a tissue, blotting the extra color, then crumpled it and got up, walking away. She passed a trash-bin and flicked it towards the opening, not pausing in her strides. The tissue missed the mouth by a few inches, bouncing to the floor. A few minutes later, Clint got up and retrieved it, shaking his head and muttering something about careless Americans. To the untrained eye, it appeared he flung it in the receptacle.

He and Natasha had done this dance dozens of times over the years, confirming no one followed, passing on the location of the safe house in bits and drabs. It took a few days, but it assured them security, anonymity. 

By the time that she showed up at the unremarkable Communist-era flat, Clint was eager to stop treating her like an unknown. By the way her arms immediately flew around him for a fierce hug as soon as the door latched, he knew Natasha felt the same. He smiled, squeezing her back.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said fondly. “Welcome home.”

* * *

Clint and Natasha sat across from each other at the large, age-marred table; they cleaned weapons, examined ordnance, and recharged tech. It was a familiar ritual in companionable silence.

He checked the straightness of an arrow by looking down the shaft. “You popped his cherry, didn’t you?” He didn’t need to call Steve Rogers by name. 

Natasha didn’t answer; to him, her quiet spoke volumes.

“Jesus, Nat.”

She continued reassembling a pistol, not looking up from her work. “It wasn’t about getting laid,” she finally said, coolly.

“Then what was it about?”

Some emotion finally crept into her voice. “Helping him let go of the past. Giving him a better chance. He could still walk away from this business. He could still be happy with someone; for him, love isn’t…” She set the pistol down, closing her eyes, taking in a trembling breath.

Clint reached for her hand. “Natasha. Don’t go down that path. There is no reason to.”

Natasha squared her shoulders, and squeezed his fingers. Then she reached this time for a taser-disc, checked its charge, then moved on to the next. “It was really clean, Clint. He understood that it was only going to be for a night or two. At the end, he let me go without a single protest.”

Clint smiled briefly. Natasha was a master at her craft, a genius, a natural. She had the talent of letting herself be tangled in her own web; caught, it transformed her almost completely into whatever she needed to be and feel for the mission. Convincing. Believing. The only drawback to her gift was that it could -- and had a few times -- cut her deeply. She could have a difficult time escaping her own weavings.

She continued her confessional. “I tried going cold turkey. To be forthright, upstanding, honest.” She scoffed. “It lasted all of twelve hours, eight of those I was unconscious.”

“So you lied to him?”

Natasha twisted her lips, grimacing. “Just once. Just about borrowing a white nightgown.”

Clint chuckled. “That's it?! Nat, that's _nothing_.”

She shrugged, moving on to disassembling and oiling a retracting choke line, so she could assure it drew smoothly when she needed.

He couldn’t help himself. “White, huh?”

Natasha shot Clint the look that said that she would take his ribbing no longer. Still, a bit of color bloomed on her cheeks, and for a moment she gazed out the grimy window behind Clint’s shoulder and got a far away look.

Clint frowned. Perhaps she had wounded herself after all. “Natasha?” he asked, truly concerned. "You didn't tell him about...?

She bowed her head, shaking it slowly. She then raked her hands through her hair, sighing. “I know I’ve lost my edge. Bear with me, Clint; I’m going to get it back. I need it back. It’ll just take a little time.”

“No shit. S.H.I.E.L.D. is shattered; gone. We’re free agents.” Clint shrugged and leaned back, tilting his chair. He hooked his feet on the edge of the table. Natasha opened her eyes, locking them with his across the arsenal. “Now...who do we want to be?”


End file.
